


Something To Come Back To

by BringOnTheFandoms



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Linux and Turing, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Q's cats - Freeform, Worried!Q, cause I love Q's cats, loving!Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5633065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BringOnTheFandoms/pseuds/BringOnTheFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Q have been together for a while now. The young quartermaster knew that dating an agent was risky, but one gunshot can bring his world toppling down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 007, Report

**Author's Note:**

> Not really sure how many chapters this is going to have. This first one is going to be a little short. Maybe this'll be long, maybe not.

Fingers flying rapidly on his keyboard, Q followed the blinking dot labelled “Bond” as it traveled through the sewers of Paris. His earl gray had long gone cold in his Scrabble mug and his wrist had started to cramp two hours ago. Even though M had cleared Bond for this mission for “passing” his exams—Q knew that he didn’t need to access those files to know they were false—this was a suicide mission. M knew it, Moneypenny knew it, Q knew it…and even Bond knew it. He didn’t voice his opinion on the matter, but there was this look in those charming blue eyes before he got in his car and their embrace had been much longer than normal followed by a quick peck on the lips. _Thank you for giving me something to come back to,_ he had said. He always said it before leaving. But something about the way he said it this time sounded awfully like a goodbye. And Q wasn’t ready for a goodbye. Not yet. Hence why the young man hadn’t left his branch for more than 84 hours.

“Service door on your left.”

“I’m in.”

“Go down the corridor. There should be another door a ways down.” More panting. “Have I been feeding you too much, 007, or have you been ignoring your physical training?”

“Oh shut up, you prat. I’d like to see you do this.” The young quartermaster smiled, hearing the smirk on his boyfriend’s face through the comm. 

“Oh, you would love that, wouldn’t you?” Silence.

“I hear men on the other side. How many?”

“Give me a second.” Zeroing in on Bond’s location, twelve dots appeared on the other side of the digital door. “Twelve. Find another way.”

“Are they armed?”

“007, find another way.”

“There’s no time.” A loud bang came from James’ end, followed by brief gunfire and shouting. There were no security cameras or hackable devices even remotely close to his location. The comm went silent. “007, report.” No response. “007, report.” Q’s voice was more strained this time. The tapping of his minions’ keys faltered for a second, their heads no doubt going to their department head. 

“Only one armed. Pretty badly shot,” came a breathy response. Q’s chest untightened and his fingers were back at it again. “There aren’t any cameras here. I’m fine, Q.”

“You’d better be. You have six brand new pieces of equipment on you,” he joked lightly. Really though, most of the budget always ended up skewed toward 007. That earned him a soft chuckle. “There’s a ladder leading to the street on your right.” The dot began to move in the indicated direction, slightly slower than before, but not enough to be concerning. After all, 007 had been running for as long as Q was typing. Another dot made its way toward Bond. Before he could say anything, comm cut out, leaving only the audio from a recording device planted in James’ watch. 

“Hello, James. Fancy meeting you here.” The voice was easily recognizable as their target. 

“Bond, get out of there,” Q hastily whispered. His heart dropped to his stomach. There’s no response and all of Q-branch falls silent, the only sound the soft, constant whirring of computers. _Thank you for giving me something to come back to._ Well, that only matters if he comes back. Suddenly, the sounds of a fight break out through the comm, grunts and punches landing reverberate through the room. No talking, no smooth, jeering comments. Just fighting. _A fight for survival,_ his mind supplied for him. Heels clicked somewhere in the room, probably belonging to Moneypenny coming for an update on the mission, but Q’s eyed remained fixated on the screen in front of him and that damn blinking light. A gunshot rang through the speaker followed by scuffling and then all sound ceased. No heavy breathing, no typing of the computers, just…silence.

“007, report.” Nothing. “007, report.” Slightly firmer and breathy, but still no response.

“Bond, are you alright?” The only sound was a once-gentle thudding speeding up like a jackhammer that would fail to exist if its owner had lost his James. _His James._ No one would have thought that _the_ James Bond would settle down with a young man nearly half his age who wears patterned, fleece pajama pants, loves his cats more than anything and can’t live without Earl Gray and a sticker-clad laptop. But, miraculously, he did. And now that was all catapulting downward, ready to crash and burn at any moment, threatening to pull the young man down with it.

“James…please report.” his voice cracked on his last word, the calm composure of the young quartermaster was breaking, piece by piece. Thin fingers tensed and stilled on the keys mid-command. Vision became blurry and it was suddenly hard to breathe. Still, no response was received. Q called M, shaky fingers somehow figuring out how to work themselves. He swallowed the lump in his throat and drew in a soft, frail breath.

“Agent down.”


	2. Agent Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there's any official name for Q's cats and I've read so many where they're Linux and Turing. I think those names are adorable so I'm using them.
> 
> Let me know if I should write another chapter to this. I'm not sure. I'll write one if you guys want it!

He remembers the first time James Bond kissed him. He had been working on a new watch prototype—this one with an audio recorder as a last resort if something went bad—when the agent had strolled into Q-branch. Even with his back turned to the door, Q knew it was Bond by the way his minions (how he wished 007 would stop calling them that. Now he was starting to do it) started to whisper to each other and how the constant stream of typing faltered slightly at the intruder’s appearance. There had been rumors travelling through MI6 that their best 00 agent was after his young, new quartermaster. Hell, everyone probably thought that long before the agent knew it himself. However, with Q being as reserved and soft-spoken as he was (when he’s not yelling at his minions for all of MI6 to hear) and Bond being...well, Bond...it’s not hard to figure out why it had remained just a rumor.

With the way glasses-clad eyes would linger on the older man and the way 007 was able to break Q’s personal space unlike any other would even dare, the stories and speculations blossomed through their workplace, but neither man had seemed to mind. Another frequent encounter was for all to see: Bond’s return from a mission. He would saunter up the aisle of computers to the lanky young man typing at the front of the room who always remained ignorant of his presence, choosing to remain focused on the screen in front of him. It wasn’t until James had leaned against the desk behind Q—definitely not looking at his ass and how wonderful it looked in those tight dress pants of his—that the quartermaster spoke to him.

“007,” he muttered distractedly, his eyes remaining on the map he was analyzing. He could imagine the way Bond’s lip turned into a smirk as he heard his suit crinkle as he no doubt crossed his arms in front of his toned chest. 

“Happy to report I brought back my equipment, well most of it anyway, back in one piece.” His voice was low and sultry and the agent heard Q’s fingers falter slightly on the keys of his laptop. 

“Do you expect a treat?” he quipped. “I hardly find it necessary to reward an agent for doing something expected of them.”

He heard Bond stand away from the desk and step toward him. Q swallowed and refused to let his attention fray from the screen. He couldn’t deny that he shuddered a little when Bond’s mouth appeared by his ear. “Even if I beg for a treat?” the agent asked softly. Finishing his coding command, Q turned slowly to him, his hands leaving the computer in favor of hiding in his pockets. Neither of them flinched as green met blue in a standoff, something that happened every time they met, no matter how long it was before one of them looked away. He could stare at those eyes for the rest of his life. Young lips quirked up in a half-smile as Bond looked away. That smile quickly faltered as the older man gestured to the quartermaster’s office, letting him lead the way. The minions quickly got back to work at a quick, over-the-shoulder glance from the 00 agent after a quick brush of his hand on his quartermaster’s lower back.

Once the door was closed, there was no going back. Q knew this. He had heard the gossip amongst his co-workers revolving around him and his favorite agent and witnessed how it became hushed as he made his way past them for another cup of tea. The way Bond made him feel was unlike any other feeling, but he quickly shut out those thoughts. Why would someone like James Bond be even remotely interested in someone like himself? He had no curves in his lanky, thin frame, no gorgeous eyes and definitely no impressive cleavage that could be stuffed in shimmering dresses or barely-there bikinis. He had cats and hair that could not be controlled no matter what he did and nerdy glasses that framed his face and quirky cardigans that have gotten him in trouble with M on more than one occasion. Where was the appeal in that? He heard the soft click of the door as it shut behind them.

“The gun is fully functional as is the watch. The radio on the other hand…” The mentioned pieces were handed over one by one. It was surely only in his imagination that Bond’s fingers lingered when they brushed his around the Walther PPK’s grip. 

“I’m pleased to say that your work at returning your equipment is satisfactory for once. Never mind the radio. A simple trinket. Easily replicable.” James said nothing as he stepped toward Q, taking the equipment from his hand and leaning toward him and placing it behind the quartermaster in its case on the wooden desk. He smiled as he breathed in the scent of Earl Gray and cinnamon, mixed with cat hair and a scent that he can only describe as purely _Q._ He straightened back up, much closer to his companion than before. He didn’t know when he had first started wanting the man in front of him, perhaps during their first meeting in the art gallery, but once James Bond wanted something, there was nothing capable of stopping him from getting it.

This is the first time that they’ve been alone in several months, with James’ missions and Q’s insistent urge to always be working on some new gadget, and Bond wasn’t about to waste this moment. Without his knowledge, one of his hands had decided to reach up to cup Q’s cheek followed by the other, cradling his thin, smooth face in his rough and calloused palms. He looked so small. A long time ago, the man had decided that his young new quartermaster was his to protect. He promised himself that nothing would hurt this sweet boy. 

Bond gave Q a moment to back out, but that never came. Soft-looking lips—red from being worried between his teeth when being stressed by Bond’s reckless actions—parted in a soft gasp at the sudden contact and tired, youthful eyes locked onto his. _He wanted this._ Their lips met slowly, but full of passion and yearning. Bond stepped closer, if that were even possible, and small fingers splayed across the agent’s back, gripping him tight and pulling him closer.  
Neither of the room’s inhabitants could tell you who closed the gap between them. 

All that mattered was that this was the beginning of something beautiful.

00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q

_“Agent down.”_

Two words.  
Two measly words ineffective alone yet so devastatingly tragic when placed together and formed by quivering, tear-sodden lips. Life-shattering and heart-stopping. For Q, those two words were all it took for him to fold in on himself, losing his professional composure in front of his entire branch. He stood alone, so _alone,_ at the head of the room, his vision becoming too blurry to watch the blinking dot turn off, leaving only one standing in the room. Arms quickly wrapped around him, but he clutched his chest, squeezing his eyes shut and willing them to be James’ arms. Someone was whispering soothing words to him and guiding him to his office, but he was too far gone to hear, let alone _process,_ what they were saying. 

All that got through the ringing in his ears was “It’ll be ok. You’re ok, honey.” James said that once after he came back a day late from a mission only to find Q searching frantically through Moscow’s street cameras for a body. He wondered if he would find one if he did that now.

His James was gone. Not on a plane or running down the streets of a foreign city with a gun in his hand and a smirk on his face. Gone. There won’t be any more nights spent cuddling on the couch and seeing who can point out more flaws in a spy movie. No more late mornings with breakfast in bed and having him complain about cat hair getting in his food as the cats rubbed up against him. No more playful banter in the weapons room and warnings that _yes, that_ will _explode if you don’t handle it properly._ It’s all over. It’s over and the last thing Q said to Bond before he got on that damn plane was _be safe and please bring back my equipment in one piece this time._ But then again, what do you say to someone you know you would never hold or kiss again? 

 

_Four days later…_

Linux purred contently as Q scratched behind his ears, his head shifting on his owner’s lap when he tucked his legs underneath himself. The other hand held yet another cup of tea—he had long since lost track of how many he’s had—and he gazed into a black television screen, having turned it off a while ago because nothing good was on at 3 in the morning. Ever since being sent home and refusing Moneypenny’s offer of him staying at her flat, the young quartermaster attire has been soft, TARDIS pajama pants and one of James’ shirts, which was about three or four sizes too big for him and nearly hung off his shoulder. He went through the motions, feeding Turing and Linux, making some tea, having some toast or muffins, and plopping onto the couch, which is where he found himself now. He had been given “medical leave” for a week, regardless of how much he fought to stay at work for a distraction, and had no idea what to do with himself. How do you move on after something like this? There wasn’t a section in his contract for how to keep going after an agent that you fell in love with was shot in the field. They really should write one. Out of nowhere the answer came to him. 

He knew what to do. He had to make sure.

Standing from the couch—and apologizing for stopping Linux’s massage and Turing, who had been at his feet—he went to his bag that was hastily dropped to the floor upon his entrance. Grabbing his laptop, he made his way back to the couch. The two cats jumped to his side, staring at him curiously. _They’re probably wondering where their other dad went,_ he thought with a sad smile.  
In one breath, Q was already in the MI6 archives, where he had stashed the SmartBlood program after M had demanded that he destroy it in fear of it getting into the wrong hands. He couldn’t have believed that the computer genius would actually listen to him, could he? Going through the files, he pulled up the one titled, “Bond, James.” He could find him. Bring him home like they should have already been working on. The signal locked on after scanning the digital Earth. 

His heart stopped.

James Bond wasn’t in Paris anymore.

He was two blocks away…headed towards their home.


	3. Bond, Reporting for Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short and sweet happy ending. Cause that's all we need from these two, isn't it? Thank you all for reading! You'll be hearing from me again very soon ;)

_The signal drew closer to their apartment. Q sat there, mouth hung open and eyed fixed to the screen. This can’t be happening. He heard the love of his life struggle for his life and saw his vitals shut off. He called it in, for heaven’s sake. All of MI6 witnessed the day James Bond died. M was writing the obituary has he sat there watching the screen. And now he’s back? Q ran a diagnostic to check the program’s readings. James was very much alive and was somehow headed his way. He was in shock. Linux curled closer to his body, worried about the stilled movements of normally rapid fingers on the laptop. “It’s alright, honey. He’s coming home.” His words were broken and quiet, as if anything louder would turn the blinking signal off. Hot tears had long since blurred his vision. He took his glasses off and rubbed his sleep-deprived eyes, letting out a choking sob._

_James was coming home._

James Bond had lost track of how many bullets he’s survived a long time ago. Really, they need to get better training for these so-called “bad guys.” Or just better bad guys. Ones that can actually hit their targets and shoot them dead. Speaking of shooting, the bullet is still lodged in his chest about 9 inches from his heart. Bloody amateurs. Muttering to himself, he adjusted his gun holster and limped his way down the street. 

He should be headed to the MI6 medical ward, but they know him well enough to know that he’d go straight to Q for something like that. James knew that his young quartermaster would be worried sick with his comm shutting off like that. Hopefully he’s not in too much trouble. No matter. He’ll make it up to him tonight. However, he was too tired to be thinking about that right now. First, he needed to get home. 

Making his way up the stairwell to their flat, the agent grunted and held firmly onto the banister to keep from keeling over. Tripping over himself, he fell to his knees on the last step, grateful for his grip on the railing keeping him from falling backward. James shut his eyes and hoped for the black dots in his vision to fade before trying to get up again. He heard a faint door click into place, but was too exhausted to open his eyes. He eventually did, his vision clearing enough to see two sock-clad feet almost completely hidden by blue, printed pants in front of him. His lips curled into a soft smile. He knew those pants. 

Letting his eyes rake up the thin frame in front of him, he saw those long pajama-covered legs flow into a light gray shirt—one of his, he noted with a possessive smirk—that exposed a smooth, bony shoulder that had long lost the marks from their last night together. He would have to change that. Finally, he let himself look into the young man’s face. The smirk quickly disappeared. Tears streamed over that familiar face and red, worried lips were frozen agape. Short, shallow breaths came out of a tired, shaking body. Mussed hair and crooked glasses framed the sickly pale face. It looked like he was seeing a ghost.

Then it struck him.

His vitals had shut off. Q’s voice had disappeared and the connection that kept them both sane had died. Q _was seeing a ghost._ Several thudding heartbeats went by before he broke eye contact with those watery green ones in favor of watching his foot placement as he hoisted his worn body off the carpeted stairs. The flat’s door was left open and two furry silhouettes stood still in the door frame in as much shock as their owner. He situated himself in a firm stance and took a couple breaths to make sure he wouldn’t fall back. Then, James took a tentative step toward his boyfriend. _No, he’s so much more than that, a voice in his head whispered._ It sounded very much like a snarky older woman that he had lost not too long ago. She was right. He was _so much_ more to him.

“Q, sweetheart.”

Quivering hands came up to block him as he walked forward only for his partner to back up. His tear-sodden face still hadn’t gained any color and he looked more likely than James to fall over. Silently, the 00 agent took those two hands in his own and lowered them, finally ending up with his body about an inch away from his companion’s. 

Calloused hands cupped hallowed, wet cheeks only for a moment before they moved to caress the curve of Q's lower back and the back of his head. The silence was finally broken. All of a sudden, a choked sob erupted from the shocked man and he rushed the agent, nearly toppling them both down the stairs as their bodies collided. 

“You were dead,” Q whispered into his neck. 

Thin fingers held on for dear life, the crinkled fabric of the jacket Bond was wearing giving him an anchor. The quartermaster felt some warm liquid seep from the jacket onto his shirt. It didn’t matter right now. All that mattered what that James was home. He wasn’t dead somewhere in another country. He didn't die alone. He wasn't going to never come home again. He was right here, holding him and crying some of his own tears, no matter how much he would deny it later.

“I know. It’ll be ok. You’re ok, honey.”


End file.
